


Anamnesis

by Rev



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Agent Double-oh-Warrior of Light, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Violence, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gun Violence, M (James Bond) - Freeform, Major Character Injury, Q (James Bond) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rev/pseuds/Rev
Summary: A James Bond AU - The theft of a weapon of mass destruction requires the skills of the infamous Double-oh-seven to retrieve. But who is Solus Galvus, and what does he want with her? What does he, or The Convocation, have to do with a past she cannot remember?
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Black Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [Tenkeyless.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/pseuds/TenkeyLess)
> 
> Note: I made a minor edit to this chapter, so it might be beneficial to reread this chapter before chapter 2.

Blood drips into one eye, and she blinks rapidly trying to get it out. Her head aches. The high pitch of tinnitus and her heartbeat block out the sound around her, but she knows she needs to get up. The air is hazy; stinks of smoke, blood, dust and gunpowder. She has to get up. 

Get. 

Up.

Limbs heavy. Weak. Disgust at her frailty rises like bile to burn her throat. So feeble when it mattered most.

There’s a gun just in front of her -

_Where is he?_

She lays hands on the weapon, just a little too large for her, but it will do. She can still reach the trigger and that’s all that matters.

The boy, no longer going to college soon, a hole through his head, brown eyes staring unseeing. She stumbles past. 

_Where - ?_

One of _his_ henchmen, begging, red streaming from his thigh, soaking his combat pants.

“Please, help me! I don’t want to die I don’t want todieIdontw -”

Voices. Gunshots.

The other way

_Where is ?_

She’s on her back again, staring at the sky. Beyond the dust and carnage the sky is blue. It would be a perfect day, but for this absolute clusterfuck, she thinks. Was _supposed_ to be a good day. 

_Betrayed._

  
  


Running, can’t see

_\- have to find -_

A wrecked vehicle, the one they arrived in, the driver pinned in his seat. He gestures weakly and she staggers up to him. Maybe he knows where is

\- spits in her face, laughs, dies. 

Crumbles to dust before her eyes 

_where is_

  
  


She can’t focus. The ground beneath her won’t stay still. Is this how she dies? She reloads the gun by feel alone. If it’s the last thing she does, she’ll -

_Where is -_

Pain.

Laying on his side, surprised, she’d been charmed by him earlier – his enthusiasm and work ethic. They did this for him, and others like him -

_Betrayal._ Her chest hurt she couldn’t breath -

Blinding pain.

_Where ?_

Panic.

Pain.

Burning.

Her heartbeat rings loud in her ears. 

Something bright. Hot. Too much. Weightless. _Where was - ?_

_Where –_ a flash of yellow

_Why could she not find -_

_Why did they –_ betray

_This is the end._

Failure. She can’t breath -

_Where is he?_

Bolting upright in bed, her chest heaved for air that wouldn’t come. Wildly she looked around the room, for a moment convinced she was missing someone. The trigger finger on her right hand curled reflexively, empty and futile, as the dream left her. Her throat was dry; she’d swear it was coated in dust, but her flat was immaculate and empty. Too hot, she was too hot and sweat soaked her and her bedsheets uncomfortably. 

Pain.

Like an icepick to her temple, agony nearly blinded her left eye. Jean Bond tried to regulate her breathing through the pulsing while pulling back the light blanket and stumbling to a stand. Her bare feet padded to the bathroom and from the cabinet she took a dose of paracetemol she kept for this purpose, washing them down with tap water cupped in her hand, then splashed the rest across her sweaty face. Back in her bedroom, the clock showed she had more than an hour yet til the alarm went off. Changing into something dry, she laid down until the pain subsided. If she was lucky, Q would have something new for her to play with that would distract her from these nightmares.

The alarm was dismissed minutes before it would go off, and she moved back to the washroom, across hardwood floors that transitioned to dark marble tile. Performing her morning rituals, Bond washed her face again then brushed her teeth. Gathering her pale shoulder length hair into an artfully messy tail, she made her way back to her bedroom to dress. Her regular attire awaited, a starchly pressed white dress shirt from her closet along with a bespoke prussian blue suit that, she was told, complimented her grey eyes. While she cared little for vanity, being attractive was a weapon by itself and in her line of work she’d gladly use every advantage she could get. If nothing else, she took pride in her work, and, most of the time she even enjoyed it. From a dresser she removed a concealed carry holster for her leg and a small, snub-nosed Glock 26. She’d cleaned the gun carefully last night, but habit made her check it again and ensure the safety was engaged. Strapping the gear onto her right calf, Bond considered herself dressed and made her way to the washroom to attend to her makeup. 

Foundation was smoothed over sharp cheekbones, carefully applied over the mass of scars on the left side of her face that ran from her temple down to her neck and under her shirt. The scars were memorable, and in her line of work, memorable was to be avoided. She covered them as best she could along with the dark circles under her eyes, then applied the cosmetic part of her makeup. Her reflection in the mirror, thusly altered, met her approval. License to kill, indeed. Bond turned and hit the lights on her way out to the garage, the luxurious but empty apartment falling into darkness in her wake.

With the press of a button, the silver Aston Martin DB11 purred to life beneath her. The smooth leather interior was familiar and comforting. There was little she enjoyed more than driving the powerful vehicle. Even the occasional person (man or woman, she wasn’t terribly picky) that she brought home to fuck couldn’t thrill her nearly as much as when she was free to turn the car and all its potential loose on the track. Pity she had little time for that, in her line of work.

London was still quiet at this time in the morning, and traffic was conveniently light. One short commute later and Bond pulled into the garage at headquarters, flashing her ID at the gate guard. She was early, as usual, but the building was staffed by shift so it was never really empty despite the early hour. She received a few nods in greeting as she made her way down to the first basement where Q’s shop was. 

His lab was organized chaos, a hodge-podge of parts and pieces. This floor looked more like a warehouse than an office, free of partitions barring the back of the shop where frosted bullet-proof glass separated the testing grounds from the rest of the room. The rest of the room was occupied by work benches covered in parts and bits and bobs. At a glance this morning, what was likely Q’s shadow was fiddling with something small in the testing area. She walked over to investigate, but the inventor had apparently finished with his device as he walked out before she could open the door. Nearly bumping into her absentmindedly, he looked up as he noticed her in the way. 

“Oh! Double-oh-seven!” He grinned. “Just the person I wanted to see!” He clapped her on the shoulder and motioned back towards the testing area. “You’re going to want to try this!”

Q was a middle-aged, muscular man who stood roughly her own height at five feet, six inches, with a thick head of platinum hair and a beard to boot. It was only in the last few years that he’d been promoted to Q, but he’d been with the department since she had been recruited six years earlier. The inventor was clad in his customary white lab coat with a pair of goggles perched high on his forehead. The familiar physical contact he showed her made her jumpy and uncomfortable this morning, but she bore it without reacting in favour of presenting a sociable front. She’d had to endure multiple psych tests since her incident and each time was more unpleasant than the last. She’d withstand any number of shoulder pats to never see the inside of psych again. Q was mostly harmless anyway, she reassured herself.

Following Q back into the testing grounds, Bond watched with interest as he pulled a sleek gold watch from a coat pocket.

“Looks like an ordinary watch, correct?” She nodded. “See these two crowns? Push the right one in for 10 seconds, pull it out, and throw it. It’ll explode.” He demonstrated by pushing the button in and waiting. A small LED at the of the knob flashed red and he pulled that piece out of the watch with alacrity, threw it, and ducked. She followed his lead and a small explosion flashed ahead of them. Noting the small scorch mark on the test wall, she observed it wasn’t terribly destructive, but it _was_ very flashy. Q grinned at her as they got back up.

“As you can see, it’s not very powerful, but it should destroy something small, or act as a distraction. The left crown is something _actually_ interesting. Arm it the same way, but instead of exploding it will release an electromagnetic pulse. Use it to disrupt electronics if you must, just--not in here, please!” That feature seemed useful. She took the watch from him and studied it. Overall, it looked like a normal Rolex.

“Is that all it does?”

“Well, it tells time.” She levelled him with a flat look. Telling time was the least a watch could do. Q grinned, happy to have pulled a reaction from her. “Twist the face right, then left, then right again, like so -” he demonstrated after reaching over. It beeped in response and Bond was tempted to throw it in case it was going to imminently explode. Q liked to share his toys first and explain _after_ , sometimes - much to her distress.

“- and it will activate a GPS transmitter that will function even under an avalanche. What do you think?” 

Reassured that the watch was not about to explode in her hands, she nodded,“I like it!” It was at that moment that her work phone buzzed at her. Pulling it out, she saw a text stating M was expecting her. M, her boss, which most likely meant there was a mission for her. She looked back at the man in front of her. 

“Sorry Q, I’ve got to go.” 

“If that was what I think it was, then I wish you luck, Double-oh-seven!” 

“Thanks!”

Making her way to the elevator and out of the workshop, she took the spare moment to reflect on her enigmatic employer. In the months after she started working for MI6, she had come to realize that M was a formidable woman, though her appearance was cultivated to give the opposite impression. Short, red-headed, one might even call her motherly on occasion. Yet, mundane appearance aside, M could navigate office and international politics with the best. Rumour had it she’d once been one of the Double-oh agents herself. Despite her warm exterior, M could be as cut-throat as her country needed her to be, and Bond didn’t doubt it for a second.

M was waiting for her as she entered, her hands hovering over the keys of her laptop computer.

“Double-oh-seven,” she greeted Bond with a small smile. “I was told you were in the testing grounds. I must confess I expected you to be a little late.” 

Bond smiled in response and settled into parade rest. “Oh, you know me. Just killing time. You have something for me?”

M picked a manila file off the desk, stood, and held it out to her. 

“Indeed. We just got word that a weapon of mass destruction was stolen from a company that supplies arms to the government. Perhaps you’ve heard of them – Garlemald?” 

Bond nodded and took the file. She knew of the company by their products. A quick skim of the top page of the file revealed that a canister of toxic gas had been taken in the early hours last night. There were no known suspects at the time.

“You will liaise with the CEO of Garlemald; he’s taken charge of the internal aspects of the investigation and will be able to answer any questions you might have. His name is Solus Galvus. Do you have any questions?” 

Bond flipped the page and was faced with the profile picture of the CEO in question. A flash of pain ripped through her left temple and she fought the urge to wince. The sudden pain happened occasionally, and she pushed the distraction out of it away as she focused back on the file at hand. 

Galvus had a royal sort of visage, a fine bone structure, high cheekbones, golden eyes and long burgundy hair; longer than most men wore it, with a shock of white at the fore. His expression fairly screamed that he was bored and had only taken the photo because he had to. His face, his expression, something about him seemed familiar. Like she should know him from somewhere, but she was certain she’d never hob-nobbed with him or his ilk. Not yet, at any rate. Looking up to M, she shook her head in reply.

“No questions, but if I have anything, I’ll let you know.”

M sat back down and nodded. “Good. Dismissed! And good luck, Double-oh-seven.” 

Bond left the room and travelled down a floor to the operations centre. Sitting at the desk she’d been assigned, but rarely used, she perused the file and took in the information she’d need on Garlemald; Its operations, known competitors and the specifications of the gas that had been stolen. Moving on in the briefing, she returned to the oddly familiar face of Garlemald’s CEO.

Solus Galvus’ file reported that he was thirty-eight years old, had no remaining family, and had never married. Born in Italy, he’d emigrated to England with his parents as a child. Showing exceptional intelligence in school, he graduated with a double masters in computer technology and political science from Yale at twenty-three years of age. His parents had died when he was seventeen, and with his inheritance he eventually started a tech company focused on improving quality of life in third world and war-torn countries called Allag Innovations. In an unexpected move when he was thirty-one, however, he dissolved the company. Only two years later he founded Garlemald, a weapons design and manufacture company. She’d used their guns before – they tended to be well-made and dependable weapons. The file didn’t specify what made him switch tracks so suddenly, but it was something she looked forward to discovering.

The stolen gas was code named “Black Rose”. The weapon had been developed as a nerve agent based on VX, but had proven to be even more potent in that it was a gas instead of a liquid and did not require a catalyst to spread. Absorbed through the skin, the gas would disrupt the nervous system in any living being, causing neuro-muscular paralysis leading to asphyxiation and death. By all accounts it was very painful. If released in an urban setting and in high enough a quantity, the death toll could be catastrophic. She closed the file and went back down to the equipment room for weapons, a phone, earpiece, and other assorted gear she might need. Solus Galvus had been alerted to her imminent arrival so she left for his office, located in Westminster.

*****

Garlemald’s HQ was a tall, modern building, all glass and steel, obviously designed by an architect worth their salt. It was pleasing in a clean, sharp way, reflecting the small greenspace across the street and the perpetually grey sky where the sun struggled to make an appearance. Emblazoned across the archway was simply the name “Garlemald”. 

The secretary at the front desk was a young woman with dark hair lifted in an intricate bun, her blue eyes bordering on amethyst, dressed in a dark blazer and blouse. Bond pulled her ID from the inner pocket of her suit jacket and held it out for inspection.

“Mr. Galvus is expecting me.” 

The secretary – a Ms. Igeyorhm by the name plate on her desk – studied the ID and nodded. 

“SIS, I see. Of course, he sent word you’d be by. Take this card to that elevator over there-”, handing a keycard to her, the secretary pointed at a lift down a short hallway beside the front desk. “- and scan it on the reader. It’s automated, so you don’t need to worry about punching in a floor.” 

“Thank you.” Bond nodded.

The secretary smiled and turned back to her computer. 

“Of course, Ms. Bond.”

The elevator was a sleek thing, spotless, glossy black panelling reflecting the gentle lighting on the roof. After scanning the card, she could barely tell that it moved but for the numbers on the digital display counting up. It glided to a smooth stop on floor sixty-three. The doors opened into a spacious lobby tastefully decorated in warm colors. Plush black leather couches lined the wall to the right of the elevator. A large flat screen television took up space on the wall opposite. The TV was currently muted and set to show current stock rates. A potted Dieffenbachia sat in the other corner, its broad leaves large and healthy. Across from the elevator was another door, currently open. She could see a small fraction of the skyline through the window in that far room. The color scheme was noticeably cooler there. A voice broke the silence.

“Agent Bond, I presume? Come, let’s have a look at you.” 

That would be Galvus, she thought. His voice had a bourgeoisie sort of tone, something posh but also European. She felt like she recognized the cadence, but with her job taking her across Europe it wasn’t far-fetched that she may have heard something similar elsewhere. Obliging the voice, she walked toward the office, gait slow and confident. 

The far and right walls of Solus’ office were taken up by large windows, no doubt tinted from the outside. A large solid wood desk occupied that corner. Seated across from it, beside the entrance, were some leather armchairs that matched the couches in the waiting area. On the left side were a number of cabinets and a side table that matched the desk. It was rather spare, in a post-modern sort of way. The overcast skies outside made the office feel cold, though the walls and carpet in their off-white and beige, respectively, did not help the impression.

The man she’d come to see was sitting in a posh black office chair when she walked in, a small cup of what smelled like cappuccino in one hand and a spoon in the other. The spoon fell to the floor with a muffled clatter as she came into sight. Clad in a deep black, slim, bespoke suit, rounded with gold-gilded black sunglasses and a stylish, short, dark jacket with what looked like a real fur collar, Galvus cut an impressive – and attractive – figure. His long legs were crossed and he sat facing the door. Wearing sunglasses indoors was an oddity, but the file had mentioned some eccentricity.

Galvus seemed surprised by her, but she received no further reaction and was unable to tell exactly why she put him off-kilter. She stopped in front of his desk, but made no move to sit down just yet. Solus was silent for a moment longer, studying her intently. Reaching down to pick up the dropped spoon, his gaze remained on her. He seemed a little pale, though it could have just been the lighting.

“Oh, clumsy me. Are all MI6 agents as diminutive as you? I expected someone a little... Taller. You do have a reputation, you know.” The snark with which she greeted her stung for some reason, though she’d had much worse greetings in the past. Bullets counted as greetings, didn’t they? A small sigh escaped her. Was it just her size as a woman that had surprised him? She felt his disdain was deeper than that, but still couldn’t quite place the source. It’s not as though she hadn’t dealt with many others underestimating her due to her gender. Regardless, she’d get the job done just like she always did.

“It’s not the size that matters, Mr. Galvus – it’s how you use it,” she snarked back, a small smirk forming on her lips. “And yes, as you are doubtlessly aware, I am Jean Bond. I’m here to liaise about the stolen weapon.” With introductions and barbs traded, she sat in the chair before him. The plush armchair was every bit as comfy as it had looked. Galvus paused in thought for a moment before reaching up to pull his shades off. The amber eyes behind them were keenly fixed on her. He scoffed softly.

“Careful, agent. I’ll suspect that you’re not all work and no play, like most of your ilk. You government types are usually so _boring_. I do hope you’ll continue to surprise me.” The teasing tone dropped from his voice and he uncrossed his legs and rotated in his seat to face her directly. 

Solus’ head tilted. “Tell me, are the skies outside blue right now?”

Bond frowned and looked out the window to her right in confusion. The weather looked much the same as when she’d come in - overcast.

“This is London, Mr. Galvus. I’m not certain the skies are ever not grey.” When she turned back, his eyes were fixed on the left side of her face. When she’d turned, her hair had fallen back from the scars. She shifted her head so her hair fell back over it. “Could you not look out the window yourself?”

He brought the small cappuccino cup to his lips and sipped slowly, not looking away from her. Bond met his gaze evenly. As he swallowed, he replied,

“I suppose I had hoped for some sun today.” Solus put the now empty cup down. Smoothing his expression, he straightened up to address her.

“Right then, onto business. I’m well aware of how deadly this situation could be. I’ve consulted some old friends and contacts who owe me favours, and I have a lead.” He moved a file from the edge of the desk towards her. Solus waited til she’d opened it to ask, “Have you heard of The Convocation?” 

She nodded. MI6 had become aware of the mercenary group roughly five years ago. Their leadership were known by the aliases Lahabrea, Elidibus and Emet-Selch. They were like ghosts, there and gone, seeming almost not to exist. The group had a penchant for taking jobs that required skill and precision only to leave behind chaos, mayhem, and death. Despite another terrorist organization taking the credit, MI6 had discovered the government of a small middle-eastern country had hired The Convocation to assassinate a prominent political rival, plunging the country into a civil war that had yet to abate. That conflict was slowly drawing in neighbouring countries, and, based on similar outcomes involving The Convocation like the debacle in Paris earlier, it was slowly becoming clear that chaos was exactly what they wanted.

The file contained surveillance photos of several masked people breaking into the storage facility where Black Rose had been kept. One of the perpetrators had been positively identified in spite of his precautions, and had a history linked to other mercenary groups. Other parts of the file in her hands went on to detail additional snippets of information, but she couldn’t be arsed to read all of it when the source was right in front of her.

“So you identified an ex-U.S Marine with a bad habit of hiring himself out. What makes you think The Convocation stole your weapon?”

“I should have known there were too many words in the report for you to read. Mayhap I should have added more pictures instead?” He shook his head, but there didn’t seem to be any venom behind his words. It was more like his ill temper was a habit. “I design and manufacture weapons. One does not get into this business without accruing some... _interesting_ contacts, shall we say. My informant said that there was a group seeking to hire men like him. A group that we traced back to The Convocation. The proof is in the file. As an added bonus, the hacker I employed traced the weapon back to where they’ve taken it. If you are as competent as they say you are, you can have it back before tea time!” Time was of the essence if what he said was correct. She flipped through the file quickly. While his methods weren’t exactly legal, that could be overlooked. The information looked legitimate and was worth following up. But something nagged at her. She looked up at Solus and closed the file, having committed to memory everything she’d need for now.

“And why did you get into this business, Mr. Galvus? You had a thriving company that gave aid to those who needed it, then turned around and built a company that does the opposite of your first. Why?”

He stiffened noticeably, and his hands clenched. There was a moment of tense silence before he swallowed and replied, “People reap what they sow, agent. Maybe you should stick around and make sure I’m being a good boy, hmm?” Solus smirked, but there was something brittle behind it. Despite the interesting reaction, she was sure pressing the question wouldn’t get her anywhere. She got up to leave the room.

“I’ve got a weapon to look after – are you sure you need my services as a sitter too, Galvus?” 

“Better you than my coworkers, agent”, he told her retreating form.

*****

The warehouse was located in the East of the city, close to the Thames. The intel obtained by Solus indicated that the warehouse would be unguarded until Black Rose was to be picked up later that night . However, in her experience, waiting that long was quite frankly ludicrous and so she had her gun at the ready. She made her way through the vacant one storey warehouse slowly, carefully edging around old equipment and discarded parts. The dirty windows let in little light, especially since the clouds had thickened and were threatening rain. The building had once been a shipping depot, and shelving still stood tall where it had not fallen into disrepair. From the little light available to her she could see little disturbance in the dust on the floor until recently. Judging by the prints, there had been several people. She scouted nearly the entirety of the warehouse before a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You are too late.” The man intoned, raspy with a heavy German accent.

She looked up to the catwalks where it had come from. Clad in a long black woollen overcoat stood a man with long blond hair. What looked like glasses or goggles covered the upper half of his face – it was hard to tell in the shadows in which he stood. 

“Come to look after Galvus’ crowning achievement, hmm?” 

Bond aimed up at him, but he seemed unconcerned. 

“I expected an empty warehouse, not a man with an empty head,” she quipped and fired off a shot. The gun’s report crashed and echoed around the warehouse, but the man didn’t so much as flinch as it missed.

“So quick to violence! I’m afraid I’ll be leaving with Black Rose now. Goodbye, agent, it was nice to see you again.” He turned and stalked back along the walkway, his coat flaring behind him. 

Bond fired again, multiple shots booming across the empty space and ricocheting elsewhere, but the man never faltered. She dashed to the stairs and up, intent upon catching him. In the seconds it took to round the staircase he had moved quickly to a door at the end of the walk. He disappeared through it as she sprinted to the end. The door, when she tried to rip it back open, proved to be locked. She swore briefly and backed up, aiming her gun at the deadlock. A couple of shots later, and it swung open.

The sky had let go its burden since she’d entered the warehouse and rain now drenched the roof, immediately dampening her hair. Ignoring the distraction, she set her stance, kept her gun in front of her and moved forward. Under the drumming of the rain she heard something. A few steps later and she recognized it as a helicopter. The door had led out to a set of stairs that ended on the roof. She reached the top in time to see the chopper lift off with the blond in the pilot’s seat. Several other men armed with semi-automatic rifles occupied the passenger seats and the open helicopter belly where she spotted a wooden crate – Black Rose. The gunmen laid down cover fire as the helicopter rose into the clouds and she ducked behind a pillar to avoid their shots. Bullets struck the brick, breaking off shards of shrapnel. She felt some of them pierce her shoulder and graze her cheek. Undeterred, she took advantage of a lull in the barrage to shift around and fire on the vehicle. Already, they were too far away. She cursed. Galvus had better have answers for this. And what had the man in black meant by ‘again’?


	2. A Previous Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the most excellent [Tenkeyless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/profile).

She stormed back to Solus Galvus’ offices, apparently in time for tea if the cup in his hand was any indication. He was staring out the window as she entered, fur-collared coat gone at some point during her absence.

“Back already, agent? Or did you get lost on the way to the warehouse?” She ignored the sarcastic remark in favour of pressing matters.

“You were wrong. Black Rose was being picked up as I found it. Where are they going?” Galvus turned quickly, alarm crossing his aristocratic features. 

“What?” He took in her sodden and bloodied appearance, eyes widening. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing mortal. Why was your intel wrong?” Solus’ eyes fixed on the red smeared across her cheek. Her suit was blessedly dark enough to conceal her injuries, and now wet so it showed little beyond the damage done by the shrapnel. Solus made to cross the distance between them, but she held out a hand. “Answer the question”, she commanded. He grit his teeth but did as bid, stopping abruptly in the middle of his office.

“My sources should have been accurate. Tell me what happened. I should be able to offer more insight based on that.” 

“The warehouse was more or less empty like it should have been, but a German man with blond hair told me I was late to the party. He’d already had Black Rose loaded into a helicopter. They made their getaway and left me with a present.” She nodded to her left where the blood had clotted over her cheek and there was a lingering twinge in her shoulder.

“Stefan Weber.” Solus glowered. At her questioning glance, he added, “An old... Business partner of mine.”

“Where is he taking Black Rose?” 

Galvus took a moment to think. “Brussels most likely, maybe Germany.” She quirked a brow, clearly wanting to know how he’d know such a thing, but he wasn’t forthcoming. “You should clean those scratches, agent. Wouldn’t want to mar that pretty face. Come, I have a suite here. You may use it.” 

He led her back to the elevator and they took it down a floor. 

The sixty-second floor was warm and inviting, carpeted in deep red. The furniture was plush and black, the decor clearly professionally done. Though comfortable, the suite somehow lacked a lived-in feel. Galvus led her to the washroom where he opened a cabinet to produce a first aid kit.

“I trust you know how to use this. Call me if you need anything.” So saying, he left her there to her own devices. She closed the door behind him and proceeded to strip out of her suit, ignoring the superficial face scratches for the moment. While the jacket showed only surface damage, the white shirt underneath was ruined by blood. It stuck uncomfortably over the wounds on her shoulder, but she grit her teeth and peeled it off regardless, needing to get a better look at the damage. The kevlar vest she wore on missions joined the upper half of her suit on the floor along with the undershirt, leaving her in just her bra. After running a finger over the gashes that still sluggishly bled, she determined that she’d have to dig some pieces of brick out. Unfortunately, she’d have a difficult time reaching them. How awkward, perhaps she’d have to take Galvus up on his offer to assist. She decided to try on her own, first, to get the pieces out. If she couldn’t do it perhaps then she’d ask, though she mistrusted Solus. His motives and actions so far seemed on the level, but his knowledge of restricted information and his mysterious connections had Bond on her guard. She was still slowly cleaning out her wounds when there was a knock at the door. She put the tweezers down that she’d been using and opened it, feeling no shame at her state of undress. 

“Yes?” 

Mouth open as if to say something, Galvus had stopped dead and his eyes snapped down to her shoulder. His complexion rapidly paled as he beheld her. Shaking himself after a moment, he growled,

“You are making such a  _ mess _ . Stop that. Come to the kitchen.” He picked up the kit and stalked out. It seemed she wouldn’t be given a choice but to accept his help. 

The kitchen was all stainless steel and black marble, the overhead lights soft enough that the reflection off the appliances wasn’t harsh. He’d pulled out a stool near the sink for her and was arranging bandages on the counter.

“Sit.” He seemed angry, though the emotion wasn’t directed at her. Why? She sat as instructed. He washed his hands, then shifted behind her to hunch over her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the wound and avoiding her gaze. His behaviour was a bit curious, but at least his long, deft fingers were patching her up. She remained silent while he worked, but the man apparently could not hold his tongue for long. He was bandaging her shoulder, the shrapnel removed, when he spoke.

“You were recruited into MI6 six years ago.” It was a statement, not a question. She started, but reigned in her reaction.

“That’s not common knowledge,” Bond drawled, trying to feign indifference. Her records were classified, he should not have been able to access them. Mulling it over, if she kept him talking she could probably persuade him to divulge where he found her information.

“You were in the Royal Naval Reserve previous to that, as a Commander.” This was more of a question, the inflection at the end of the sentence just barely suppressed. She held back a wince. She didn’t remember that part of her life. Anything from more than six years ago was just gone but for scars and occasional dreams. M informed her she’d been in the Navy, and M hadn’t lied to her yet. The records were there. The photos, the commendations, the letters. What was Solus getting at?

“...Yes. Why do you ask?” He stopped and studied her closely. The hand that had been on her back moved up to lightly touch the scarring on her face.

“You got these... six – seven years ago?” She flinched away at that and hopped off the stool to get some distance from Solus and his probing questions. 

“You’re going somewhere with this. Just spit it out. I’m in no mood for games.” Solus looked taken back for a moment before straightening up. She could see when something seemed to click. His voice was sure as he answered.

“You suffered a catastrophic injury seven years ago. After that, you were recruited into MI6. They told you you were in the Navy previous to your injury, and you trust that they have told you the truth, but you don’t actually  _ remember _ , do you,  _ agent? _ ” He took a step closer, still far enough away that he wasn’t crowding her, yet.

She avoided looking at him for a minute in favour of studying her shoulder. The work he’d done was neat, precise, and less bloody than it would have been by the time she was done fixing the rest herself. He had obvious experience in such matters. His assertions were also not wrong, but to admit to it felt like a weakness. Steeling herself, she returned her gaze to him.

“You have my background correct but for one thing. I still have my memory. I acquired these scars on a mission when my chopper was shot down, leaving me the only survivor. My career was solely in the Navy until MI6 approached me.” She stared at him evenly, not one tic betraying the lie. She was a great liar, able to pass a lie detector and interrogator alike. Lying had become her bread and butter, and so she lied to him as his questions threatened to lay her bare.

He stared at her for a long moment, searching for falsehood. His expression snapped when he found no lie. Baring his teeth, he pushed her backwards by her shoulders until she hit the wall. Tensing, she knew could fight back, and would if this progressed further, but she found herself wanting to see what he’d do. An odd curiosity filled her, something whispering that Solus would not hurt her.

“ _ Doooon’t _ -” His voice wobbled and trailed off for a moment, then pleaded, “-  _ lie to me. _ ” Still pinning her shoulders against the wall, his head came to rest at the junction of her neck. Inhaling deeply, Solus seemed to shrink, his tense frame relaxing minutely. The grip on her shoulders softened and she felt his lips on her throat, soft but desperate, sparking a thrill in her belly. Despite being keyed up from the adrenaline rush from the gunfight earlier, she held back, unsure about bedding Galvus given the strange dynamic forming between them. He was a mystery; a wildcard, and he seemed so strangely familiar. But then he started kissing higher on her neck and bad idea or not, she wanted him. This was just one more job. 

She was a very good liar.

She tilted her head to the side to meet his lips, and he moaned hungrily, pressing against her like he’d been starved. His left hand traced a trail up her neck, to the back of her head. There, he gripped her hair, almost as if he were trying to keep her in that spot. The act lit a fire within her, and she groaned into him, pressing forward. His right moved down to her breast, cupped it, skimmed her stomach and came to rest on her hip, his fingers digging in almost painfully. His tongue laved her lower lip, something she loved, and she gasped and allowed him entrance. As they tasted each other her own hands were busy, having come up to explore the planes of his back and the lean muscles underneath his shirt. 

His shirt had to go. She made an effort to undo the small buttons, but it was taking too long so she simply gripped the lapels with both hands and pulled. The shirt separated, scattering the buttons across the kitchen. Solus took this as encouragement, his hands whispering back up across her breasts and lower to where her pants fastened. He made quick work of them and pushed them low on her hips. She shimmied her hips to help move them further, until the fabric puddled at her ankles. Solus’ clever fingers skirted across her thighs and dipped teasingly into the apex, causing her to gasp. In retaliation, she ran her nails lightly across his chest, intentionally teasing his nipple. Another moan rumbled in his chest and he pulled her panties down while his mouth moved back to her neck. He licked, and kissed and sucked, causing her to arch her back in pleasure. She felt a bulge against her abdomen, proof of his desire for her, and it drove her to crave more. When he neared her breasts, she shivered, his nimble hands undoing her bra in a moment. A practiced tongue circled a nipple, a hand caressing the other, pinching in just the way she loved. She gasped and moaned and made to undo his pants, but he was faster, his other hand having stripped himself before she could. They fell next to her own and he stepped out of them only to grip her by the waist and hoist her up. Her legs naturally closed about his hips, the jut of his erection resting hotly near her entrance. Her back rested against the wall, bearing some of her weight. She stroked him lightly, wanting to feel him. Craving him. His tip was wet, and he was pleasantly large – slightly wide without being overly long. He groaned against her neck while one hand came back to her hair and pulled.

“Enough of that, dear agent. Let me in.” She shuddered and lifted herself slightly, keeping one hand on the base of his cock. She shifted her hips back and forth over him to coat him in her slick before guiding him inside her, sinking down slowly and relishing in how he stretched her, filled her perfectly. His lips shakily crashed into hers and they tasted each other again while they adjusted to the sensation of his cock within. His hands braced on her waist, holding her steady as he began to thrust. Starting slowly, they built a carnal rhythm, increasing in tempo as the heat between them kindled ever higher. Panting into the scant space between them, sweat from their exertions began to bead across their chests and necks. She could feel the tension of her orgasm building, but rocking on his cock wasn’t quite enough.

“I want...”, she whined, having trouble articulating. He knew what she was asking, though, and slipped a hand between them so his fingers could press against her clit, brushing against her every time he thrust. Keening loudly at the contact, she ground down, seeking relief. The building pressure of her release fast approached, and she bucked, chasing it helplessly. She cried out wordlessly as she came, her pussy clenching around Solus’ cock, driving him to thrust harder for a moment before she felt him spasm, moan, and still as much as he could on shaking legs. They both breathed hard in the afterglow, taking a moment to calm, before she unwrapped her legs from Solus’ waist and gingerly let them down. They still shook a little, both from the intensity of her orgasm and the strain of being fucked against a wall, but she enjoyed the pleasurable burn.

Galvus was watching her with something she’d call warmth at best, and adoration at worst and it made her uncomfortable. She started to pad away to the washroom when his hand placed on her shoulder caused her to turn. He kissed her again, his other hand running down her body, caressing lightly and making her shiver until he came to her sex. Two fingers explored her still-slick folds, and she parted her legs slightly to allow it. She gasped as he grazed her too-sensitive clit, and then his fingers moved to her entrance, sank in, and curled in exactly the right spot. She moaned loudly and leaned into him, fearing her legs would buckle. He withdrew his fingers and chuckled, hand coming up to gently grasp her wrist.

“Come to bed, agent.” Her hunger re-lit, she made to do just as he suggested. Sucking one wet finger into his mouth, his gaze burned into her with lewd promise. Her eyes widened at the gesture, and she moved just a little faster to his bedroom.

His bed was ostentatiously large, and she found it comfortable as she laid back on the many pillows adorning its surface. Solus prowled after her, his lean body slotting in between her legs. He kissed her again, and with a thrill she recognized what might be herself on his tongue. Slowly, luxuriantly, he made his way back down her body, worshipping a line from her jaw to her neck and down to her chest. Moving from one pert nipple to the other, he paid each thorough attention, sucking and nibbling until she arched into him with a gasp. Satisfied with her reaction, he continued his path down her stomach, to nibble upon her hip, and then further still to the junction of her thighs. Parting her legs to grant him access, he shifted to fill the space opened, feathery hair tickling the inside of her thighs as he came to rest between her legs. Teasingly, taunting, he licked a strip up her folds and came back to lightly lave her clit. She moaned and shifted her hips for him, grinding upwards to feel more of his clever tongue. 

He pleasured her with two fingers again, thrusting them slowly, and she knew she wouldn’t last long when he brushed the spot that made her see stars. He continued to lick and suck at her while curling his fingers and she rapidly fell over the precipice of her second orgasm. 

Trembling, she stilled to regain her breath. Bond could feel Solus moving up the bed, his arms coming around her body to hold her close. Laying astride him was warm and comfortable as she came down from her high, his lips kissing her neck and her cheek and her jaw. Intriguingly, he did not avoid her scars. Instead he seemed to dote upon them and she couldn’t find it within herself to care enough to make him stop. 

After a few more moments in this comfortable configuration, faculties regained, Solus pulled back the bedding and left the bedroom briefly. When he came back, he had a warm cloth that he used to clean them both. She drifted off in his arms immediately after, exhausted from the day’s sex and violence.

*****

She’d woken early and without nightmares, fortunately. It was cozy, cocooned in Galvus’ arms, but she wanted to avoid the awkwardness of waking with a one-night stand. Solus could not be allowed further into her life, for reasons both personal and professional. She carefully disentangled herself from the man and dressed quietly, taking one last look at his sleeping form before driving back to her flat to shower and change. 

It was still early but several hours later when she went back to the Galvus skyscraper, suppressing the odd urge to feel sorry for leaving Solus to his bed alone. Getting attached was something she couldn’t afford. She hadn’t even known him long enough to  _ get  _ attached! She shook her head, striding into the lobby. The secretary was in, her head rising to note her entry.

“Ms. Bond, for Mr. Galvus, I presume?” She raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow at the agent.

“Yes, he’s in then?” 

“Of course. You know the protocol.” Bond nodded and proceeded to the elevator. She felt some relief that she wouldn’t have to visit the suite again. Something about Solus was ever so inviting, sneaking past her guard, and she didn’t want to have to deny the temptation of his bed or body again. This was for the better, she nodded. Why, then, did it feel wrong?

The lift let her off at floor 63, but his office door was closed. The secretary would have let him know she was coming, so he was likely busy. It was roughly fifteen minutes later that the door opened and Solus’ voice drifted through.

“Good morning, agent. Did you _ sleep  _ well?” It was a rather pointed question, and she could hear the derision behind it. So he wasn’t going to let the fact that she’d left him to wake alone go. She would not let his mockery affect her - they both had jobs to do. Walking into the room, she took the seat she had claimed the previous day.

Solus looked good. His suit was charcoal with accents of silver this time, perfectly pressed and tailored to fit his lean body. He sat at his desk with a half empty mug of tea, no telltale steam rising above it. Open on the dual screens before him, she could see multiple maps and some email correspondence. 

“Quite well, thank you. Do you have a location on Black Rose yet?” She tried to be professional and placid, but couldn’t help notice the stiff way in which the man held himself this morning. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, perhaps contemplating more verbal flaying, but in the end he merely picked up a file and thrust it out to her. There was a weapon of mass destruction to find after all. 

“Belgium was confirmed. The address is in there. I couldn’t find out what you’ll be walking into, though.” He got up and walked out from behind the desk, passing right behind her, almost too close for propriety. From the armchair beside the wall he picked up something black – a tactical vest, if she was correct – and handed it to her.

“Here”, he said brusquely. “I’m responsible for Black Rose, so the least I can do is make sure you get it back intact. This is doubtlessly better than the bargain bin equipment your employer supplies you with.” 

She inspected the offering critically. It was both lighter and thinner than the vests she normally used, so she guessed Solus had given her the best of what he manufactured. The gesture was distractedly warming, but she tried not to give it too much thought. He was, after all, responsible for safekeeping the stolen weapon – an incident involving it would no doubt sink his company’s stock prices. This was just good business.

“Thank you. Was there anything else?” There was a notable delay in his response as he paused behind her chair. She resisted the urge to look up at the man, neck prickling at his hidden presence. After a long moment, Solus continued to the edge of his desk.

“... No”, he spoke finally, but she got the feeling that he was biting his tongue rather than speaking his true thoughts.

“Mm, perhaps this is the day I return successfully before tea time, then”, she quipped, trying to lighten the mood. She stood and moved to the door. Solus followed her a little too closely, but she found she didn’t want to challenge his tailing.

“If the tales of your exploits haven’t been exaggerated, then that might be a possibility.” 

She smiled at the back-handed compliment. “You’ll have to tell me what you’ve heard. We can compare notes.” 

Making to leave, Bond was stopped by the man’s hand on her arm. There was an intensity in the amber of his eyes as he asked, “Do come back, won’t you, agent?”

The sincerity was off-putting after his earlier bad humour. She wasn’t certain what to make of it so she simply pulled her arm gently from his grasp and replied,

“I always do, more or less.” She did not see the way his hand clenched on the door frame as she walked away.

*****

The flight was a quick one – less than an hour – on a hastily chartered private jet. She had equipped the vest Solus had given her en route as well as the weapons she’d taken from headquarters. The address he’d had given her wasn’t far from the airport as well, though it was in-between Brussels and Leuven in an area that was a bit more countryside than suburb. She drove to the place indicated and surveyed it from a stand of trees. The gated property held a large two-storey estate, likely rebuilt on the land after World War II and therefore unlikely to have a basement. She observed two armed sentries patrolling the courtyard with no sign of movement from within the house. It appeared to have just the two entrances – a back door and a front door. Both would doubtlessly be guarded. Best to make her own entrance, then.

While both guards were out of sight, Bond vaulted the courtyard wall and crept over to a south-easterly window. It was locked, but she was able to break it with minimal noise to slip inside. The room she found herself in was a small bedroom that looked like it hadn’t seen use in a while. The door was closed. She listened through it for a moment before readying her gun and throwing the door open. Feeling her heartbeat increase, she embraced the adrenaline as it kicked in. Felt the rush. Time slowed for her. 

The guard on the other side of the door received a bullet to their chest and fell. Shooting him in the head to be certain, she flinched as a bullet splintered the frame beside her. Quickly she turned her gun and fired back in the direction it had come. Instincts screaming, she pivoted – the gunman was in the living room. They both fired again. His bullet hit her chest – it packed a punch, but the vest held – and hers hit his neck. He went down in a spray of blood. Staying low she started methodically searching the house. 

Her kick opened another closed door. The room was empty. She continued down the hallway, guard up, and turned to fire as the noise brought one of the guards from outside in. He returned fire and ducked behind the corner while she ran through the next closest doorway for cover. It turned out to be the kitchen occupied by a large man who had been prepared for Bond’s entrance, judging by the meaty fist that glanced off the side of her head. Dazed, she stumbled, trying to bring her weapon up. He was faster, capitalizing on his advantage by grabbing her arm and bringing it down over his knee. She dropped her gun from the pain. Shaking off the fog from the blow, Bond leaned into the stagger she’d fallen into so her left hand could retrieve the knife she had hidden in a sheath on her ankle. The man shifted so he was behind her and grabbed her across the chest to bring her into a choke hold. Quickly evaluating she couldn’t fight his strength, she stabbed the knife blindly into his unprotected ribs and belly. He bellowed and flung her to the ground. Rolling into the impact and back onto her feet, Bond’s eyes searched for her gun. She dove for it just as the gunman from outside and new face appeared in the doorway. Friendly fire hit the man she’d been fighting from behind which gave her that valuable second to reach her gun and fire back.

Bullets hit her vest again, forcing precious air from her lungs. A graze on her left arm sent fire down her nerves. Her return fire seemed to hit both men, but their unimpeded mobility implied they too were wearing vests. Both sides ducked back behind their respective covers. Her gun clicked empty just as she fired at the wall one of the men was hiding behind. Holding back a curse, she dove for the gun the man on the floor still had at his hip. She came up firing through the partition where she hoped one of the gunmen’s heads was while moving left to avoid the second who’d just ducked back in to fire again. Hearing a shout and a thud from the partition, she kept firing at the other man as he retreated backwards. She chased him, clipping his leg in the hallway to send him sprawling. He was mid turn when she put a final bullet in his head. Turning back, she coldly dispatched the two men already on the floor to be good and sure of their deaths.

Immediate threats taken care of, Bond wiped and re-holstered her knife and quickly checked the gun she’d found. Disappointingly, it was nearly out of bullets and her own magazines wouldn’t work in it. She stalked back into the kitchen, retrieved the gun she’d brought and reloaded it while walking towards the stairs that led up to the second floor. As the staircase came into view, another gunman suddenly appeared on the landing, firing down at her. After his initial volley, he ducked back the way he’d come and she dashed up after him, reckless and unafraid. Crouching as she hit the landing, she ducked as gunfire shredded the plaster above and behind her. Bond fired back in a lull, striking her assailant, forcing him back so she could shoot him in the head.

There were five doors in the upper hallway. Without hesitation, she reloaded and started forward. At the first door, on her right, she pivoted and fired, hoping to kill or disable anyone waiting behind it. To her surprise, the next door up on the left opened and a slim man armed with a large hunting knife bolted out. Bond grabbed the man’s fist closed over the weapon and pushed it away from herself while sweeping his legs out from under him. Simultaneously, two more men exited the last door as another emerged from the room she’d shot into. That one, at least, was bleeding as he limped, so those shots had not been wasted.

The assailant who’d just appeared on her right roughly dashed her into the wall, the impact causing her to drop her gun. He backed off and raised his own weapon while she tried to get her bearings. Seeing the threat, she tucked and rolled, her arms pulling the man who’d been trying to get up with her as a shield. She felt the impact of the bullets through his body, pushed his now limp form away and came up to her feet. As she did so, she shifted forward and pivoted so she was under the gunman’s firing arm, grabbing it to force him to fire at his incoming comrades. The first one went down in a heap, but before she could fire again, the man behind her dropped his gun and locked her into a bear-hug. The remaining man coming down the hallway pulled a knife and advanced. He lunged and she hopped, forcing the man holding her to bear her weight. Suitably reinforced by his bulk, she kicked off and hit the man coming at her square in the chest. Off balance by Bond’s acrobatics and the bullet in his thigh, the man behind her went down, taking her with him.

Still pinned by his arms, Bond was unable to roll free. Without a weapon at hand, she groped for the knife she’d put away earlier. It came free and she shifted to stab at the man’s groin area, but he grabbed her hand before she could strike. The man she’d kicked away was getting up and she started to feel desperation setting in. She spotted a gun on the floor, just within reach, and lunged for it. The man beneath her grabbed her by the hair and gave a vicious yank in response. Bond cried out and tasted ozone for a second. She didn’t manage to get the gun, but her knife hand was free. Driving it into her assailant’s knee, his grip mercifully slackened as he screamed in pain. Bond picked up the gun but was forced to dodge backwards as a booted foot came swiftly at her face. It hit the arm of the man still holding her instead, knocking it loose with a handful of her hair. She flinched and awkwardly shifted the gun closer to her body so she could take out the man closest to her. Two times she pulled the trigger, leaving her with only one more attacker.

Bond turned to shoot him too, but he was faster, a hand shoving the gun askew. It went off into the wall and she kicked at his knee. He dodged it and made an attempt to bury his knife in her skull. Responding to the new threat she released the grip on her gun and grabbed his hands, then planted her legs in his gut and heaved him overhead so he crashed into the landing. She picked up her gun and was swiftly back on her feet, breathing hard. Before he could recover, she shot him dead. 

She was on her stomach beside the body of the last man she’d killed with the wind knocked out of her before she realized she’d been shot multiple times from behind. She mused to herself, dazedly, that she’d have to thank Solus again for the vest if she came out of this alive.

Bond heaved in a breath of air as footsteps slowly and deliberately made their way towards her prone form. Her hand groped for the gun she’d dropped and she tried to turn to see who had gotten the drop on her, but a familiar voice stopped her.

“Ah ah ah! Stay where you are, or I’ll kill you right now.” 

She stilled. “Weber.”

He chuckled, sounding close. “I go by Lahabrea these days. Or did Galvus not tell you?”

She sucked in another breath and chanced turning her head. She was in the company of one of the heads of The Convocation.

He had stopped a few meters away with his gun trained on her. He wore all black, combat boots, cargo pants, a light jacket and a t-shirt, under which was an obvious kevlar vest. He wore his long blond hair loose. His looming silhouette was outlined starkly against the sunlight pouring in through the window at the end of the hall.

“It  _ was _ you, in Paris. The infamous Double-oh-seven. Hmm, I see nothing about you that looks special. And yet he handed Black Rose to me just for a chance to see you again.”

“What?”

“Indulge my curiosity please, agent. Why did you leave him seven years ago? He’s been useful to me, but maybe he was less useful to you? Did he mean so little to you? As a champion of England, you do realize you bear some blame for the formation of my group, yes?”

“Speak plainly!” She was so confused. Nothing he’d said made sense to her.

He squatted down on his heels to get a better look at her face. “Don’t bore me, agent. It will only make me kill you sooner. My partner will not approve, but I have a bargaining chip now.”

“I. Do  **not** . Know. What you are talking about!” 

Lahabrea studied her in silence for a long moment. 

“You really don’t, do you?” He laughed loudly. “I see why he set this up now. You don’t remember! Did he know that? Was it a surprise, when you saw him? Shall I tell you all the sordid details behind this situation before you die? I think I will - I want to see your face when you learn about your past.”

Bond waited for him to elaborate. 

“Your disappearance - your supposed death, I think? It broke him. He was very receptive to our overtures and joined us - The Convocation.”

“Who are you talking about?” She thought she knew; things were falling into place very quickly, but she didn’t like how the big picture was looking.

Lahabrea laughed again. “The man you were going to marry before you disappeared so suddenly. Solus Galvus. Also known as Emet-Selch.”

Her breath caught. Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Another of the founders of The Convocation. Someone she had apparently known before her memory was taken. He felt so familiar, and acted so intimately toward her. Had he engineered the loss of his own weapon just to lure her to him? Had M lied? She couldn’t believe that just yet. Her attention refocused on the man before her.

He was grinning, obviously enjoying lording his knowledge over her. “Do you feel  _ used _ , Bond? How much has MI6 kept from you? They didn’t tell you who they were sending you to, did they? That you knew him. Is this a test of loyalty? Did they think your pretty face could dismantle us? Would you join us, if given the chance?”

She didn’t know what expression was showing on her face - the words he’d thrown at her had shaken her badly, and her life was still on the line - but it obviously wasn’t receptive to his offer.

“Hmm, I didn’t think so. Pity. Time to die, agent.” 

As Lahabrea shifted his weight to get to his feet, she swung her legs and pushed off the wall to grab her gun. He fired his own weapon, but off-balance as he was, and with Bond moving out of position, the shots merely splintered holes in the hardwood floor. Her return fire hit him center-mass and winded him. He staggered backwards, but took aim again and fired, this time hitting the wall right beside her. She pulled the trigger, gun a little lower this time and hit his thigh. He grunted and fell and Bond took the opportunity to rise to her feet. She faltered slightly as the wounds and bruises of the day made themselves known.

“Drop the gun!”, she commanded as she reloaded and stalked toward him. He shifted and tried to bring his gun up, but she fired again. He cried out, dropped his weapon and propped himself up against the wall. Blood smeared the floor under him.

“You’ve got the Black Rose back now, agent. In the last bedroom. Will you do this to your Galvus, too? You know what happens to people like us when we’re in custody, yes?” He chuckled and moved his right hand to the inner pocket of his coat. She shot him once more, this time in the head, in case he was reaching for something potentially lethal. She could take no chances. His laugh cut off abruptly, his body still. The hand that had been moving slipped down, revealing the white of paper. Cautiously, she reached out with her left to pick up the papers. She went numb as she looked at them.

For all she’d been hoping his words were false, the paper turned out to be photo paper. Multiple blood-smeared photos of her with Solus Galvus. Younger. Unscarred. Laughing. Kissing. Holding hands. Looking at each other like they were their entire world. Lahabrea’s words rang in her ears. 

Solus had set this up. 

*****

He was outside when she left the building. The sun glinted off his gilded sunglasses and he wore the short, fur-collared jacket over his suit. He was leaning against one of the vehicles. There was a gun in his hand, but she didn’t think it was for her. His expression was blank but he remarked nonetheless.

“A baker’s dozen go in, one comes out. What  _ do _ they feed you, agent?” He sounded like she felt. Hollow. She stopped just outside the doors, in the shade, weapon in her right, pictures in her left. She tossed the photos at his feet.

“You’re behind this.” 

Solus tensed. Looked down at the pictures, then back at her. He pulled the magazine from his gun, ejected the last bullet in the chamber and tossed the pieces carelessly into the dust of the driveway.

“The Convocation had business you involved yourself in earlier this year. I’m sure you remember it. Rumour had been floating around for years by then, of an exceptional MI6 agent known as Double-oh-seven - Jean Bond. Surveillance caught pictures, in Paris. Blurry, but they looked like you. I  _ had _ to know. So, yes, I arranged for Black Rose to be stolen so they’d send you to me. But I didn’t plan on Lahabrea going off-script - you were supposed to be able to retrieve the weapon unharmed. I also did not expect that you would not remember me.” 

“What was I to you?” 

He breathed in and laughed, sounding almost hysterical. “ _ Everything. _ ” 

She started to say something, to ask for details, but he continued unprompted. 

“We were entreated for aid by one faction of a country torn by civil war. You wanted to help. We met with them, but it was a trap. They took what we had, tried to kill us. But you... I had met you years ago, employed you as a bodyguard. It hadn’t been your official occupation for a while by then, but you saved us. There was an explosion. You fell...” He sounded lost, and paused as though remembering.

She was sure that his eyes were pinned on her. Solus was more animated in an instant, manic and furious. “I  _ destroyed _ them and  _ salted the earth _ for you! I looked for your body for  _ weeks _ !” He wrenched the glasses off his face. 

“So I... Died, and you decide to burn the world down? Did you join The Convocation just for shits and giggles?  _ How _ do you go from a good man, to  _ terrorist?! _ ”, she questioned with visceral disgust. 

There was no reaction for a moment before Solus exploded. His eyes blazed and he shouted, “I believed you  _ dead _ !” His fists were clenched and the cords in his neck stood out. “Allag was  _ your _ idea,  _ your _ passion, and when you were gone, so too was the light in my world. There was nothing left for me but to furnish others that they might inflict this pain upon themselves! I am  _ nothing _ without you! Either end this charade or...” his voice choked off and he stepped closer, one trembling hand reaching out to her. “Come with me.  _ Please _ . We’ll start over.”

She froze. This had not been what she was expecting. The dreams...Her nightmares... 

It was too late to change course. She couldn’t - she’d already alerted MI6, given them her location so that they might secure Black Rose. They would be here at any minute. Giving into a compulsion she couldn’t explain she suddenly urged him, “Leave. Now. They’re coming.”

“Come with me,” he pleaded again. 

She shook her head. “I can’t.” 

His hand dropped and he looked away to study the stained photos on the ground. 

“I won’t leave without you. Not again.”

“When they come, you won’t have a choice.” He looked back up and gave her a sad smile.

“Too late, agent.” He dropped to his knees and linked his hands behind his head just in time for the footsteps she’d been too distracted to hear come around the gate. Emergency vehicles had pulled up without sirens and members of Interpol and other ranking officials from MI6 swarmed the area, guns drawn, but she stood where she was, watching Solus. He was searched, handcuffed and led away but his eyes did not leave hers until they absolutely had to, cut off by the door of an unmarked cruiser. She stood there in the organized chaos of the agents she’d called in, numb, until a concerned medic tapped her on the arm.

“Are you alright, madame?” The medic was an older woman with a French accent, kind eyes focused on her and concerned. Bond really didn’t think she was alright, actually. But she hung onto the numb feeling and nodded.

“I’m always alright.” She left then, aware that she’d have to face a debrief and M at headquarters. She was irrevocably tangled in this mission. They had her pictures and her... Former fiance, apparently. M16 was her present. But they had lied about her past.

**Author's Note:**

> I would say this is the James Bond AU no one asked for, but someone at the wonderful Emet-Selch Discord said they could see Solus as a Bond villain, and everything just slotted into place. This is the first time I've written fiction in six years, so I hope I'm not too rusty.


End file.
